


[you surrender to the touch]

by incoherenttruth



Series: psych0's robin party [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Damian is Ra's Al Ghul, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Jon is a Villain, M/M, Rimming, villain AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 18:58:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15646929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incoherenttruth/pseuds/incoherenttruth
Summary: “What must I do to have you?”In the photo he glimpsed in Nightwing’s wallet, Damian is much lighter, as though Gotham sucked the colour from him, washing him gray from this deep golden.“Let me have you.” Jon murmurs. “The way you have me. Let me be yours.”





	[you surrender to the touch]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psych0tastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psych0tastic/gifts).



 

Damian emerges with a spray of water, and a grin. Jon matches it, splashing Damian back, only to hear a yell of challenge before Damian dunks him under. He growls under the water, and wraps his arms around Damian, trapping him and feeling rather than hearing his laughter, resonating in his bones.

 

He comes to the surface only to see Damian staring at him, the slightest peek of his teeth in his lower lip, his pupils blown with the green barely visible. Trusting Jon to hold him up, his hands leaves Jon’s shoulders to cup his face.

 

The tension between them snaps. 

 

Who reached for who first? Perhaps the truth is that they reached for each other at the same time, in this secret place, where the waterfall is small enough to rumble rather than roar. Where the dappled sunlight slants on them through the lush foliage, and the hum of the forest vibrates around them, vibrant and alive.

 

They kiss. 

 

“What is your price?” Damian asks against Jon’s mouth. Jon aches, deep and slow at the confusion inside, for this boy that never belonged until he carved out a place for himself. He wears the water droplets like the adornment of countless jewels, holographic in the afternoon sun. They glisten over the glow of his skin, tawny like the shade of desert sands in the morning dawn, at the first spill of light. “What must I do to have you?”

 

In the photo he glimpsed in Nightwing’s wallet, Damian is much lighter, as though Gotham sucked the colour from him, washing him gray from this deep golden. 

 

“Let me have you.” Jon murmurs. “The way you have me. Let me be yours.” Jon has had Damian’s mouth. Instead, he presses his lips to Damian’s neck, where his pulse flutters visibly, and in his arms, Damian trembles. 

 

_Let me love you._

 

“Are you?” Damian’s voice is hoarse, his grip tight against unbreakable skin. “Are you mine?”

 

“Yes.” Jon says. “For all of my days and all I have to give and more. I am yours.”

 

Damian, his fierce love, makes a choked sound. He doesn’t yield, Jon never expected him to, but what he does is back Jon back underneath the cascade of water, to shove his body against cragged rocks and devour his mouth, all while tremors wreck his frame.

 

He might never hear Damian say it back. It does not matter.

 

Not here, not in this space that have carved for themselves, because he knows the truth of it. Not now, where they touch each other with reverent roaming hands, open mouthed kisses on skin. 

 

Jon wants to worship Damian. So he hoists Damian upwards, curving his hands over the slim bones of Damian’s hips, letting Damian brace an arm against the wall, his hand tangled in Jon’s hair as Jon trails kisses lower and lower, until the water droplets converge on heated flesh. 

Damian’s chambers are always carefully perfumed and layered with fragrances, the servants placing lit incense of oud and bakhoor by the corridor, redolent and heavy. Even his clothes and sheets have been perfumed with wood and smoke, heady on the senses and unraveling to linger even on Jon’s skin. In those, Jon knows, are the familiarity of Damian’s childhood. Talia’s rooms are still lit with her favoured incense, and he knows she wears it like a weapon, her perfume layered with it to entice and trap. Jon always knows when Damian misses her, when he has lingered in her chambers.

But this, this is Jon’s favourite scent. 

The scent of water on Damian’s sun warmed skin, washing away all other scents until all that is left is the faint tang of salt. He inhales deeply against Damian’s skin, just taking a moment to appreciate it.

Still, his love is an impatient one. Jon licks the skin, savouring the taste and the jolt of muscle. Tests his teeth on it only to soothe it with his lips. This close to Damian, he can feel his exhale, watch the clench of his abs, listen to his heart thundering in Jon’s ears, drowning even the roar of the waterfall. 

Damian’s hand tugs on his hair, urgently, and Jon is reminded of the desire simmering in his lower belly but he has spent nights thinking about this, entwined with Damian, pondering and fixating on what he wants to do, enough time for his vague fantasies to gain the sharp edges of detail.

“Let me,” He murmurs. _Trust me._ Damian stares down at him with those dark dark eyes, before slinging his legs over Jon’s shoulders in explicit permission, bringing his erection right before Jon’s eager mouth.

Rather than going straight for the main event, Jon presses a reverent kiss to him first. Just a brush of his lips at the base and the touch of his tongue. It’ll be artless, Jon knows better than to expect otherwise, but it’ll be their first, and Jon has been trained by Damian, especially in the art of observation and memorisation, and he is determined to make full use of all their lessons now. Setting his own lust aside, he closes his eyes. Focuses on the sound of Damian’s heart and breathing.

He darts his tongue out to lick at the gathering liquid at the tip. 

Damian’s breathing stops for a glorious moment, his heartbeat skittering. Loud. Deafening.

Jon does it again. 

“J-jon.”

The way he has affected Damian has Jon intoxicated, entrapped in a haze of desire. Jon circles his tongue around Damian’s tip, mouthing mindlessly at heated flesh. Damian makes a sound, low and soft, and his hand grips tight in Jon’s hair, the spark of pain causing Jon to close his eyes to enjoy the burn. 

Damian tastes clean, with a bit of sweetness to him. Jon cannot get enough. Not of him. Not of the noises he is drawing from Damian, the skips of his breathing. Not of the way Damian is fisting his hair, starbursts of pleasure pain beneath his eyes. 

The world used to be too loud. Too much to hear too much to see too much to handle. Too much at once, a million and one things pressing on him, squeezing down on him until it felt like he would be suffocated in his own skin, trapped in a fugue. 

Damian cuts through all of it. His heartbeat. His scent. His touch. Jon is aware of his presence on a minute level, to every single sound and movement he makes, and it would scare him, how much of himself he has fitted to this single person. 

 _Co-dependency._ Uncle Bruce said. _Unhealthy._  As though Jon was a child and Damian wasn’t, and somehow Damian had managed to trick Jon into falling into a relationship with him, gave him affection and presents to keep him compliant. Then, Damian had held himself in anger, then held himself away. 

Jon doesn’t need any of these words to label them, his mind distilled to singular purposes and simple straight lines. He liked Damian, then somewhere along the way he fell in love with him, and if anything happened to Damian, Jon would make sure the whole world would pay. Damian would do the same.

It was just that simple. Morality has never been easier.

“You’re like the sun Dami,” Jon murmurs, nonsensically. “I draw my strength from you.”

Damian’s thighs squeeze his head as he slams his other hand down on the wall. It frees small rocks, scattering down on Jon’s head.

“I wanna hear you, Dami, come on.” Buoyed by his response, Jon continues murmuring, kissing the side of a sharply defined hipbone. He reaches up, and cups the back of Damian’s ass, fitting the curve of it into his own hands.

“Hold onto me.” He says, and that’s all the warning he gives Damian before he licks Damian _right there._

Damian’s reaction is immediate, his voice breaking out on a sob of Jon’s name. Jon has Damian held up only by his hands, and the tightening grip in Jon’s hair. The fact that Damian allows him to do this, allows himself to be so vulnerable, allows them to be together like this-

“Relax Dami,” Jon croons. 

Instead of waiting for his reply, Jon mouths at his rim, coaxing softness from the ring of resistance, then sucks experimentally. Damian’s legs quiver as he cries out, his entire body jerking as though hit with a pulse of electricity. 

Maybe it’s the show of vulnerability. 

Or maybe because Damian’s body is just that sensitive. But even when it was his cock that Jon was mouthing on, Damian didn’t even show his pleasure as openly. 

Jon presses his tongue to him. Testing, just testing, and Damian tenses, just for a moment before he simply _yields._  The overly upright way he holds himself, the tight lines of his back - all of that undone leaving only the sweet way he entrusts his body to Jon. 

 Damian’s so quiet. So quiet. But Jon can hear his skittering heart, raised from his usual steady thump, and the uneven breathing and most importantly, those little hitches of breath like soft purrs curling around “Jon”.

“Sweetheart,” Jon murmurs nonsensically. “Dami, oh Dami, you’re so gorgeous.”

“Q-quiet.” Damian hisses, but there is no sting in it, only  a shuddering desperation that heats Jon up like strike of match to oil. “A-ah.”

It doesn’t last long. Jon knows Damian is about to come, can read it in the trembling of his limbs the way he’s tugging on Jon’s hair. The way his hole clenches eagerly around Jon’s tongue, the bid for attention as he circles his hips. “Come on, come on, Dami let me see you come-”

Damian comes. In a symphony in motion, all lovely and lingering like the last ending notes of an orchestral piece, pressing close to Jon as though he can go in and resonate in Jon’s bones. 

Overcome with the need to hold him, Jon drops him down to clutch at him, kissing fervently up the side of his neck and his face. Despite the slight tremble, Damian’s strong legs wrap around Jon’s. Somehow their uneven breathing are still in sync, their chests pressed together and the tattoo of Damian’s heart against Jon’s chest.

They spend a moment, just breathing. Jon drinks the droplets of water against Damain’s skin, mindlessly mouthing at the warmth of Damian’s fluttering pulse. After a while, Damian stirs, his sharp mind not even being slowed by his orgasm. “Jon, did you-”

Jon hums in response, still nuzzling Damian’s neck and enjoying the petting of his sore curls. His mind is all fuzzed out from Damian’s presence and reactions.  Damian laughs in exasperation and gropes purposefully downwards. “Oh,” Damian says, his eyes when he finds Jon spent. “Just by…?“

Jon grumbles when Damian stops, pulling back to chastise him when he catches sight of Damian’s wondering expression. It changes into a scowl the moment he sees Jon looking, but it’s too late. Grinning, Jon (because he knows better than to risk Damian’s lips) darts in to press three quick kisses, at Damian’s cheek, cheekbone, and that corner of his mouth.

“You’e just that sexy Dami~”

“Tt.” Damian clicks his tongue and shoves at Jon’s face, but he still doesn’t let go, letting Jon take his weight. 

He still doesn’t let go. 

**Author's Note:**

> Does Jon fly Damian bridal style home? Who knows.


End file.
